


i wish i was the moon

by scudfrohmeyer



Category: Fright Night (2011), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Peter is a closeted goth, Peter is drunk and horny, Retcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scudfrohmeyer/pseuds/scudfrohmeyer
Summary: peter is a damsel in distress and lucian saves him, meaning he is now stuck with peter forever.
Relationships: Lucian (Underworld)/Peter Vincent
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	i wish i was the moon

Peter raced from the subway tunnel with blood spattered across his face, heart pounding against his rib cage as he threw his body to the wall. The brick cooled his back, almost freezing against his skin. He shook and shuddered, utterly petrified of what he just saw. His thoughts made a mad dash round his skull, trying to understand exactly where he was, or how he’d made it here.

He was staring at him from across a sea of people, watching him pound back three shots of some melon-y liqueur before stumbling to the wall. He shimmied his hips and threw his hands above his head in some drunken attempt to dance, totally unaware that he was being watched. _Easy prey,_ the thought came on much too late for him to avoid the guy. 

Peter was only aware he’d been in someone’s sights when two hands grasped his narrow hips, firmly holding him in place. He opened his lined eyes, eyebrows furrowed as he looked over a totally unfamiliar man. Normally, this wasn’t an issue he worried about, in fact it was one he quite liked, all things considered. However, he didn’t exactly like how he immediately went in for a kiss, not even telling him that he’d been watching him and the thought he was sexy. Still, Peter kissed him back, his own hand snaking down to his arse.

The guy huffed at that, taking his hand and shoving it back to his own person. He leaned in after staring at him for a moment, eyes flickering in a peculiar manner before he kissed his neck. The guy had shaggy hair and plain clothes, he looked very unlike the other patrons in the club. His skin went awash with silvery pinpricks, his hands were cold on his exposed flesh. 

Peter decided quite quickly he wanted nothing to do with this, that this guy wasn’t deserving of a hookup when he could have found someone more coy if he’d actually been looking for a good time. He put his hands on the guy’s wrists, trying to pry them off to no avail. His unwanted partner grabbed his jaw and tilted his chin back with his thumb.

“You’re absolutely beautiful.” He said, his tone as cold as his hands. Peter struggled underneath his grasp, he was harder to shake off than most horny drunks.

“Fuck off,” hissed, eyes narrowing. Even jerking his shoulders and hitting him did nothing, the guy just grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. His eyes turned a bright blue, he couldn’t tell if the lights had made them look that way or if he was actually who he thought he was.

When he felt a tongue against his neck, his breath hitched and he reflexively raised his knee, making hard contact with his groin. The guy freed his wrists and gave him the chance to make a run for it. He found the bright green “exit” sign hanging in the back corner of the club, all he had to do was pass through a heavy crowd of flailing goths. Peter slipped through spiked collars and platform pleather boots, eventually running face-first into a girl with a liberty hawk and Egyptian-themed eye makeup. Black lips scowled, she shoved him off of her and yelled for him to watch where the fuck he was going, which he would agree with in any other circumstance. 

He eventually reached the outside of the club, ending up in a narrow, smokey alley. It reeked of cloves and motor oil, he couldn’t even smell the massive dumpster pressed to a chain link fence. Either he’d run out into the streets via the alley’s mouth, or he could test his luck and hop the fence. Obviously, he went with the stupidest option and crawled up onto the dumpster’s lid, hearing the club’s door swing open as he placed his hands on top of the fence. 

Peter propelled himself upwards, fumbling his way over the fence and collapsing to the ground, panting wildly. He brought himself back to his feet once he caught his breath, petrified at the sight of the man following after him still. If he didn’t keep running, he was going to get murdered tonight. So, he ran, heart racing and mind racing as well.

They alleyway seemed to stretch on for a millennia until he reached its mouth, breaking through and finding the tube tunnel’s entrance across the street. He just had to get on a train before the guy reached him.

That was all he had to do. He shuffled in, jumped over the turnstile to the underreaction of a bored security guard, and made his way into the crowd of partiers and late-night office workers returning to their flats. Peter searched the map, hoping to find the route that would bring him back to his flat. He picked the closest one he could decipher through the dizzy cloud of adrenaline blurring his senses. 

His hands were sweaty as the train whizzed to a stop, he fell in line with the rest of the commuters, crowding in with them and hoping his stalker hadn’t made his way in. Peter cautiously looped his fingers through the handgrip and held it tight, his knuckles turning white. He looked through the window, finding commuters looking at their phones or watching the train with blank expressions. He couldn’t see the entrance from the turnstiles, but he assumed he was in the clear for now.

His sigh was audible, and he glanced back into the train, making sure his relief wasn’t unfounded. From the car ahead of his, he could see shaggy hair floating above the crowd. His eyes widened, and he hurried to the back, opening the connecting door and stepping into the next car. It was nearly empty, save for three people comfortably sat in the blue plastic seats. There was a window seat empty beside a man with long hair, one who was staring at him. He decided he’d be safe if he pretended to know the guy, he wouldn’t attack him if there was someone there pretending to know him.

Peter awkwardly slipped between his legs and the back of the seats in front of him, sitting down and trying to wipe the panic from his face. It didn’t work.

“Are you alright?” He asked, tired eyes glancing him over.

“There’s a man following me, could you pretend to know me so he leaves me alone?” Peter asked, heart still racing and eyes looking properly wild. “I had to run out of a club to get away from him and he chased me here, I promise I’ll leave you alone once he’s gone.”

The man raised his eyebrows and blinked twice, before nodding and getting into character. He uncomfortably placed his arm over the back of the seat and leaned in, starting to laugh at absolutely nothing. He took the man’s signal, laughing along with him.

The door opened, and he locked his eyes on Peter, looking slightly deterred at the sight of his target with company. From the corner of his eye, he watched him settle down in one of the seats and watch them intently, waiting for the moment his prey would be alone again.

“Really, she thought she could tell Mark that and he _wouldn’t_ get upset with her?” The man laughed, and Peter nodded enthusiastically, cupping his stomach in his hand.

“You want to know what else?” He leaned into the man’s ear, covering his lips before speaking again. “Thank you so much, I owe my life.”

The man’s eyes warmed and he smiled slightly before returning to the act. They babbled about fictitious friends, talked about how they had to try out some restaurant and made plans for meetings that would never happen. He got another glance in the direction of his pursuer, finding him still staring.

However, the train stopped, and the man got up, so Peter rose with him, too. They stepped out of the car together, the man keeping him in his sights as they walked. Quickly, they hit an empty part of the train station, no guards at the turnstiles and no people walking about. The man froze, and Peter whipped around, finding that they were alone with the shaggy-haired stalker. He started to panic, but the man looked confident.

_What the fuck was going on?_

The man scowled at him, Peter’s eyes widened at the sight of teeth growing into jagged, razor-sharp fangs. He pushed him away, hitting a wall in the suddenly claustrophobic corridor. His eyes frantically panned between the long-haired man and his stalker, both staring each other down and snarling like animals.

“ _Lucian_ ,” he growled, blue eyes practically glowing. The long-haired man watched him, teeth glinting in the buzzing fluorescents. Peter didn’t know if his drinks had been spiked and he’d just hallucinated all of this, or if he was really witnessing this.

“You know that the treaty only permits consensual blood drinking, be it donated or otherwise.” He tilted his head, glancing over to Peter. “He told me he ran away from you, and I don’t think the elders would approve of that.”

“It’s one measly human, they won’t care if one nobody goes missing!” He glared, and the man, Lucian, snarled.

Before Peter’s eyes, he leapt at the stalker, colliding with him and tearing at him with elongated nails. One slash of his nails splattered blood across his face, and he panicked, racing out of the tunnel and up into the street, utterly frightened. Never in his life did he think he’d witness something like that, even if he only witnessed a few seconds before he pulled himself out of the danger. 

He heard screeches, growls, how could no one else hear this? Peter stood in shock, trying to process. He was interrupted by a loud yelp that fizzled into a gasp and a whimper. He started to move again, expecting his stalker to come out of the station and grab him, he simply couldn’t run anymore.

Instead, as he looked around wildly trying to find a street name or any familiar building, he heard a voice.

“Wait!”

He turned around, finding Lucian running up to him. He was splashed with blood and cut up, but otherwise he looked mostly the same. His teeth had returned to normal besides being stained red, and his eyes were kind. Peter didn’t trust him and tried to run, hitting a pole as he did so.

He clattered to the ground and whimpered, holding his nose. Lucian reached him before he could stand and looped his arms underneath his own, raising him up to his feet.

“ _Agh,_ fuck, just bought this shirt.” He gestured to his white top, momentarily forgetting that he’d just witnessed the start of a brutal fight.

“Please, my flat is nearby, I’ll fix you up and clean your shirt.” He pushed a bloodied strand of his hair back, smiling gently. “It’ll only work while the stain’s still fresh.”

Peter had to think. In his dizzy mind, it seemed totally stupid to go back to a stranger’s flat. It was a stupid idea to go into the flat of a stranger who just killed someone, no matter if he was very attractive and if he just saved him from another stranger who wanted to kill and eat him. Still, he didn’t know if that was his drunk brain at work. But, who was he to stop making bad decisions now?

“You don’t look like a killer, I guess. But, nobody ever looks like one, do they?” Peter chuckled, falling against Lucian. His eyes closed immediately on impact, not realising how woozy he’d suddenly become.

* * *

When he woke up, he was lying in a nest, giant plush blankets wrapped over him and hundreds of pillows as far as he could see. The room was dark, only one dimmed lamp to act as a light source. He could scarcely see movie posters and flannel shirts hung on the door, along with a flag for a country he’d never been made aware of. Which country used pink and light blue as its colours, which flag used pink, period? 

He was still wearing his clothes, besides his jacket and shoes, though the blood stain on his shirt had been washed out. The spot where it was felt slightly damp, making him wonder if it had been removed while he was still wearing it. He appreciated that he hadn’t been stripped, but his skinny jeans were not making him feel any more comfortable. Though, he was grateful to find a glass of water on the bedside table, but he couldn’t tell if it had been drugged in any way. It wouldn’t be, would it? Lucian had him unconscious for however long, he didn’t need to drug him after he woke up, it just seemed like a waste.

Peter winced as he sat up, bones creaking. He opened the door silently and crept into the flat, finding a kitchenette and living room. When he crossed the room, he found the TV on, playing old sitcom reruns for a sleeping Lucian. He looked so uncomfortable, his head propped up at an odd angle by the sofa’s arm. His hair had been loosened from its half-bun, now it fell over his shoulders and down from the sofa. His chest rose and fell comfortably, his face looked so serene when it wasn’t splashed with blood.

He felt his own, noting that it had been mopped up when he was unconscious. As far as he could tell, Lucian just cleaned him up, took off unnecessary layers, and placed him in bed. It made him smile slightly, maybe he wasn’t so bad. Despite the killing, that is.

Peter went back to the bedroom, deciding against removing his clothes. He stared at the art on the wall above his head. His eyes were drawn specifically to a photograph taped between a concert flyer and sketches of facial features. A blurry Polaroid of Lucian, his chin tilted back and his mouth wide open, each tooth sharpened and glistening in the camera’s flash. His hair flew around his face, which looked slightly bruised.

Why would he have a photo like that? Especially between what looked like very mundane photos and print outs and art, nothing that would make him look twice. 

Had he watched some terrible horror movie before he went to bed earlier in the day that made him dream up this awful reality? Chased through the city by a creep who was intending to eat him and saved by a handsome man. His walls didn’t indicate he was heartless, his care for Peter while he was unconscious showed he wasn’t a threat at the very moment, but he still couldn’t bring himself to decide if Lucian was safe or not.

He wandered back out to Lucian’s sleeping form, watching him with utter fascination. The alcohol was still streaming through his system, there was no other reasonable explanation for why he was so invested in watching him. It didn’t seem right to wake him, but he needed to know something, _anything_ about what just happened. He seemed like he knew what was going on, but this was probably also part of Peter’s drunken delusions.

His voyeurism was cut short when Lucian jerked slightly, opening his eyes and looking up at Peter with a little glimmer in his gaze. His lips pulled into a slight smile, and he responded by doing the same.

“Hello,” he spoke softly, tired eyes blinking slowly. “You’re still here.”

He sat up slowly, wincing and aching. Peter watched him stand up, stretching out with his shirt hiking up his belly. Lucian smirked when he saw his eyes wandering down his body, not deterred by the stretch marks crawling up from his waistband.

When he finally managed to pick his eyes up from his stomach, he looked him in the face. A look of relief washed over his face when Peter didn’t ask him anything, he simply grinned at him. His dick was piloting his brain at that moment, making it certain to him that Lucian was alright because he was sending blood to his head.

“It seemed a bit dickish to run out while you were asleep, even though under different circumstances I definitely would have.” He joked, and Lucian breathed out, walking past Peter and heading to the kitchenette.

He followed, leaning against the counter and watching him start the electric kettle.

“I’ve never done that before,” Lucian said softly. He was rifling through a box of tea bags and found one for himself before he pushed the box to his guest. Peter grabbed the first one his hand landed on, intent on understanding why he was saved.

“Can I just ask—why me? Is my life especially valuable? Am I the chosen one and I just don’t know it?” He grinned, leaning over the counter.

Lucian chuckled, drawing two mugs out of a cupboard and setting them in front of Peter. He couldn’t watch his hands anymore, he was fully focused on his face.

“As far as I’m concerned, no. You’re just a human who was in peril and the kind thing to do was to save you.” He looked up at him from beneath his eyebrows, a little smile curled onto his lips. “You’d be a waste as a vampire’s meal.”

“That…that was _actually_ a vampire? So what, are you like Blade? You hunt down the bad vampires and save the handsome male damsels and take them back to your flat and give them tea?” Peter laughed, half in disbelief and half at the idea of a British twink version of Blade.

Lucian drew the corner of his mouth into a flat, dismissive expression.

“No. I’m a Lycan, or what you’d call a ‘werewolf.’ I have personal issues with vampires and would rather they didn’t go making the whole of London into a snack. They make the treaty yet they won’t even abide by its rules.” He grumbled, pouring hot water into the mugs along with the tea bags. He let them steep a moment, watching over Peter with calm grey eyes.

He sat in fascination, taking in that he was talking to a werewo— _Lycan,_ quite unlike what he would have expected someone like himself to act like. Peter would say he couldn’t have told he was one, but seeing his fangs in the subway tunnel and just the amount of hair on his arms, it made sense to him. That was probably Lycan-racist to say, but he did like his body hair and his scruffy face, along with the slightly feral light lingering behind his eyes.

“That’s amazing!” He blurted out, only regretting his wording when Lucian’s eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed, it was very obviously the wrong thing to say. “I mean, that’s so fascinating. I’m still expecting to wake up tomorrow with a hangover to find out it was all a dream.”

He looked away from Peter, taking his mug and sitting back down on the sofa. Though, his rescue followed, nestling down on the other side after a brief moment of hesitation.

“Don’t make yourself at home, you’re not safe here.” His eyes were stern, but he couldn’t take Lucian seriously.

“You can’t shake me that easily after you tell me that vampires and werewolves are real,” Peter’s voice was soft and teasing, like he was chatting after a hookup he particularly enjoyed. “How am I supposed to go on living my life normally knowing that fantasy is reality?”

Lucian exhaled as he chuckled, lips tightly shut. “Many can’t, they get too excited to tell their friends about us. Just know that if you go telling what I told you to your mates at the pub, you’ll be tracked down and executed.”

Peter giggled until he realised that his companion was being serious. He felt stricken, though as he was considering what would result from his death he couldn’t come up with anything major. No family to feel remorse at his death and pay for his funeral, no loved ones to mourn him, no pets who’d starve without him. He was a prime candidate to be eaten by vampires and yet he was saved for no real reason, only to be told that there was a chance he’d be killed anyway.

“Why tell me anything? I’m a condemned man, the way you’ve put it!” He grimaced, though Lucian didn’t seem so certain.

“If you don’t say anything you’ll be fine. Even if it’s just one person, word’ll get back to the coven, and Viktor or whoever the fuck is awake now will take care of you.” He sipped his tea, focusing his attention on the TV.

Peter watched along with him, his anxiety dissipating as he watched Lucian’s expression settle and calm back down. This night hadn’t gone as he’d expected in any way, he hadn’t hooked up with someone at the club, he hadn’t been eaten by a vampire, and he hadn’t hooked up with the Lycan who saved him from being eaten. Though, he wouldn’t pass up being called back to get eaten out.

“So, do you want me to leave? Or do you need some company?” Peter was taking a risk flirting, but he couldn’t tell if Lucian looked receptive.

“You can stay the night, but I’ll be sleeping on the sofa.” He said softly. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Aw, but this tea’s caffeinated. I’ll be up for hours with nothing to do!” He took a long guzzle of his tea, finishing it off. “At least tell me about the vampires and the Lycans.”

Lucian looked over at him, furrowing his eyebrows. “Alright, I’ll tell you about our history. It’s a terrible idea but I trust that you don’t have a death wish.”

Peter laid down, settling his legs onto Lucian’s lap which he promptly pushed back against himself. He watched him with a smile on his face, his eyes bright. Lucian sighed, his gaze distant, lost in the past. It was fascinating, seeing him sit, his eyes lingering across the floor and all around the room. It wasn’t really fascinating, but Peter liked following his eye line and trying to picture what he was.

Lucian laid out the entire history of werewolves, separate from Lycans, of vampires and eventually of his own kind, of enslavement and revolution and being driven into sewers, abiding by Accords that weren’t upheld. Peter didn’t believe for a moment that Lucian was centuries old, he’d been around to see the uprisings, _led_ the uprising himself. He seemed so meek and humble in the time he’d been speaking to Peter, it seemed totally unbelievable.

“I’m supposed to be dead, the stories go that my cousin killed me and now he’s second in command to the elders for his amazing feat. I went into hiding as per our agreement, and it’s stayed that way since.” He finished, taking his hair and tying it back up and out of his face. “Do you understand that you can’t say anything about this to anybody?”

Peter nodded, eyes still locked on Lucian.

“Can I see you again?” The question was blurted out, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it back.

The Lycan exhaled, looking over his human companion and flattening his lips into a straight line.

“You’re not safe here, not safe with me. You’d be stupid to see me again.” He got up, taking their discarded mugs and washing them out in the kitchenette.

“I’ve been making stupid decisions all night, and it led to me meeting you and learning all about vampires and Lycans! I can’t just forget about it and pretend like I never met you.” Peter slammed his palms against the counter, dark eyes wide and staring deep into the Lycan. He’d done this before to get his way, but he didn’t know how effective it would be with Lucian.

His eyes were cold as he looked over Peter again. “One misstep and you’ll be a blood bag, you’re really willing to risk your life because you’re drunk and thinking with your dick?”

He hadn’t expected to be called out so accurately, but he wouldn’t step down just yet.

“You’ve been kind to me all night, I don’t think you’ve just been keeping me here because it’s the kind thing to do. You like me, don’t you, Lucian?” He teased, leaning over the counter and propping his chin up on the heel of his hand. “Maybe you need a human best friend to help you…scope out clubs for vampires not following the Accords, hm?”

Lucian furrowed his brows, facing him and setting his hip against the drawers.

“You’re willing to act as a target? You’d risk your life for a cause you just heard about tonight?” He brushed him off, passing him by. Peter grimaced, grabbing his shoulder and immediately realising he’d made another mistake.

Lucian spun round on his heels, eyes starting to illuminate an inhuman colour. He started to retract his hand, but his eyes warmed to their original hue after a moment. His fangs sharpened behind his slightly parted lips, Peter could only imagine the thoughts swimming behind his eyes.

“Just let me see you again. I owe you a favour for saving my life, and I’ll fulfill it by coming and seeing you. Is that alright?”

“That just sounds like I’m giving you another favour. But, you’re persistent, I don’t think I can deter you no matter what I tell you.” He could swear that for a moment, Lucian’s eyes grazed his lips before he bucked his hand off, going to his bedroom. “What’s your name?”

“Huh?” It was only then that he realised he hadn’t given Lucian his name.

“I might as well know your name if I’m going to be stuck with you, friend.” He looked over him, a little smirk on his lips.

“I’m Peter. Your good friend Peter, _yes_.” He grinned, watching him skim through his drawers until he found something he could wear for pyjamas.

His eyes didn’t fall off of Peter until he realised that Lucian wanted to be alone to change. He closed the door behind him, listening to the Lycan rustle out of his clothes and into clean, comfortable garb.

When he stepped out into the hallway, Peter subtly eyed him before he stepped back into the room. He looked so comfortable, so soft with his hair pulled into a messy bun and his clothes hanging off of him.

“You can borrow some pyjamas from me, I can’t imagine skinny jeans are comfortable to sleep in.” Lucian said before he trudged to the sofa, holding one large plush blanket in his furry arms.

He’d never be able to get rid of Peter, and that was just a fact. He knew it in the back of his mind, but he still let the human curl up in his bed and sleep there like a dead man well into the morning. He found himself smiling unconsciously when he heard Peter talking to himself about how best to thank Lucian for allowing him to stay the night, and while he didn’t know if he made the right choice, he didn’t exactly regret it.

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know if i like this but i wanted this foul beast out of my sight, so here’s the result. also sorry for every bit of canon that i butchered, i did watch the movies while writing this but it refused to stick in my lizard brain so i just...wrote what felt right.


End file.
